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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25707214">Unforgivable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticbasic/pseuds/galacticbasic'>galacticbasic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Zygerria Arc, And Gets One, Angst, Blood and Torture, Burns, CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Hug, Eventual Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Nightmares, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, RexObi If You Squint, Slavery, Slaves of the Republic, Sort Of, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Whipping, Whump, Wound Cleaning, obikin if you squint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:14:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25707214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticbasic/pseuds/galacticbasic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On Zygerria, Anakin chooses a different path after Obi-Wan is captured in order to win favor with the queen. How far will he go for the sake of his mission?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/CT-7567 | Rex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>160</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jedi, Slave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title (and some themes) taken from Strangelove by Depeche Mode.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Anakin makes a choice at the slave auction.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A thousand vying taunts stabbed through the immense heat of the Zygerrian arena as Anakin mounted the platform upon which Obi-Wan knelt, hands folded at the nape of his neck, barely shifting to glance over his shoulder. Before he could open his mouth, the sight of his former master stunned him into silence; riveting eyes hardened from recent torture, their sockets blackened and dull in the harsh washing light of the blinding midday sun, a face run through the dust of the slave-pits and gathering lines of dirty sweat in the creases of his forehead. The expression did not speak of defeat, nor command defiance in the form of an ill-reasoned attempt at escape, as Anakin’s usual methods left him prone to do. Obi-Wan regarded him as if waiting for a moment that would not come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Queen Miraj Scintel waved at a guard from her private box, a vague smile in her eyes as the feline creature handed Anakin a bantha-whip, non-electrified yet just as dangerous in the right hands. It must have been a spare; its retractable length weighed heavy and uneven in the young Jedi’s palm as the queen instructed him to act the slaver, or die a slave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ahsoka came to her master’s mind as he searched the Force, scouring it raw for an alternative to their current predicament’s bleak options. She too watched him, pouring her energy into his will, waiting for a stroke of his brilliance to save the pyrrhic event, to turn the tide in their favor. The cries of the crowd broke through his concentration as Anakin hesitated, uncharacteristic uncertainty pervading him, the last of his mental capacity spent grating against the Force-suppressant collar locked around Obi-Wan’s throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Do not sacrifice the mission for my sake.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>R2-D2 carried their lightsabers within his main compartment, and if he could fight his way out, he should take the risk. Even if it meant compromising his position. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His stare fell again on Ahsoka. Her people languished somewhere only the queen knew, enslaved, divested of their freedom and their lives if he refused to save them. Anakin pressed his eyes shut a moment, letting the whip extend to the sandstone, viced in the adamantine grip of his mechno-arm. Would his padawan do anything to save her people? If she were standing where he stood now, her master on his knees before her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Queen Miraj snapped her fingers, Anakin’s shadowed eyes rising to meet her visage, the sharp features losing amusement by the second. “Lars. As much as I enjoy anticipation...” Her fangs bared, a gruesome sight Anakin apprehended from afar with as much clarity as if he stood inches from her breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A guard on either side exposed Obi-Wan’s back, slick and glittering with sweat, his tunic torn from each shoulder so as to split down the middle but otherwise remain intact. No visible wounds marked the skin there, but the pattern singeing his clothes distinguished where an electrowhip had already passed, painfully, more times than Anakin could count by the individual strokes of the searing weapon, contrasting and overlapping swathes of black against the dirtied ivory of his master’s garment. Now they wanted him to repeat the punishment publicly. He only prayed—when this ordeal was complete—he would still be able to look Obi-Wan in the eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anakin brought the whip down with such force the splitting of skin was audible. His left hand clenched hard enough he feared the bones might shatter, a rising sickness coating the base of his tongue in bile. Obi-Wan tensed but did not waver, the minute alterations in his Force presence incomprehensible and faded; if he sensed Anakin’s revulsion, his horror at the impossible task laid before him, he did not display it. The younger Jedi swallowed his feelings and lay another stroke across the yielding flesh, blood coming suddenly to the surface like an unquellable blush. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barest nuance of his consciousness flickered in some unbidden satisfaction, a sway of the Dark side steeping his actions in the intrusive pleasure of the weapon between his hands, the admiration of his friend’s composure, the curiosity at how much he could possibly withstand. Force permitting, Obi-Wan could sense nothing of these heinous thoughts passing through his mind, even how desperate he grew to repress or block them out, even as he brought the whip down another stride. That he was too weak, far too weak for all of this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At five strokes, Anakin dropped the whip to the sandstone, grimacing as Obi-Wan cried out after an ill-directed lash landed in the path of an earlier wound, carving it deeper into the muscle of his shoulder, wringing out crimson down his spine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I tire of this,” he announced to the queen, as bold and haughty as he could manage with teeth grinding to bone in his mouth. “Let the auction proceed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Queen Miraj stood at the edge of her balcony, flinging her hands out over the arena in an expansive gesture as the slavers and potential customers jeered and shouted for continuance. “You are too generous with him, Lars. What would my people have?” she sang, Anakin’s hands coming to fists as the response rang out, tumultuous and encompassing among the Zygerrians.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Whip the Jedi!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perched on the edge of a lounge chair in the private box, Ahsoka covered her face with her hands. A rush of air ghosted over her lekku, throbbing with shame for her master and general, as a presence took her side. Through her fingers, those glassy blue eyes met Captain Rex’s shaded visage, tight and determined beneath his Zygerrian helmet and disguise. R2-D2 trailed behind him, whirring and beeping in a quiet series of nervous tics. Finding the location of the fifty-thousand Togrutan slaves was now paramount; no one, not even Obi-Wan came before that objective, and thus neither Anakin nor Ahsoka could betray their true identities to the queen without relinquishing the mission in the process. Her intervention at this point would be disruptive at best, and at worst detrimental.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But on these kinds of assignments, Rex counted as extra muscle more often than a secret operative with an essential role to play—his position more flexible than most. Ahsoka tilted her chin at him, and he took her meaning, bopping Artoo hard on the dome, drawing attention as he tossed his helmet over the side of the arena box. The queen threw him an alarmed sneer as he drew Master Kenobi’s lightsaber from inside the droid, plunging with abandon over the side of the balcony, trusting Ahsoka to stick his landing without managing to impale himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough of this!” he roared after impacting the ground, unsure suddenly of his plan past that exact moment, except to free General Kenobi, to absolve Anakin of this cruel slaver’s act without revealing him. Obi-Wan sprang into action, clutching his aching ribs with one hand and punching the guard holding him down with the other. Releasing the pent-up emotion that came with Force-suppression and false submission, Obi-Wan flicked his wrist, the Zygerrian’s skull cracking against the stone as he went down. Rex tossed him the lightsaber and he ignited it, whirling about in search of enemies. He exchanged a quick glance with Anakin, who seemed still to be deciding whether he should join the fight against the Zygerrians outright, or practice his subversion. In any case, if the collar he wore obscured the Force-bond between the two, their energies unknown to one another, a look from his former apprentice rendered their shared feelings unmistakable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rex produced a hidden blaster from his tunic, the guards nearest him dead before they could extend their whips to catch at his limbs and subdue him. But Obi-Wan’s luck seemed to be running out. He slashed one guard through the chest before he was out of breath, the atmosphere sweltering, his tongue like mud when he swallowed. An electrowhip shocked the saber from his grip, and another pulled him to the ground. Rex lunged for the general just as a third struck, the blaster slinging out as his arm jolted, electrified. He tried at grabbing the cable—but the sting intensified, sending bolts of crackling fire into his chest, his heart palpitating as he clutched his shirt and hissed and collapsed into the sand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rex,” Obi-Wan gasped out, the man dragged to the platform beside him still twitching beneath the voltage coursing in his limbs. The captain’s head lifted just enough to see his Jedi falter, finally lashed into unconsciousness. Then his own sight went black. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take them away!” the queen cried, turning to monitor her new slave and running face-first into Anakin’s chest instead. His sudden return made her jump, but she soon recovered her composure to run a hand down his fine armor. The furrow in his brow made her startle again, a veiled sort of unnatural terror filling her at the sight. Like it emanated from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lars, my dear, whatever is wrong with you?” She laughed in spite of herself, banishing the discomfort pinning her.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Punishing the slaves myself, I—” Anakin straightened, his sneer deepening even as his gaze softened. “I find it distasteful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see. Perhaps it will please you to know—after the Jedi and his mysterious accomplice return, no one will need raise a hand against them again.” She smiled. “I intend to make them utterly compliant.” What a strange man, this one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where will they be taken?” Anakin jumped on the reference. “The same as the rest, to be... processed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed.” Queen Miraj narrowed her eyes. “Why does it matter where they go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anakin cut his glare to the floor, hands growing clammy. “The Jedi. I want to be sure he survives.” And Rex, too—but that could not be said for now. As it was, the captain’s likelihood of survival outweighed the general’s; especially if the latter’s treatment did not improve. Knowing the slaver scum they would be subjected to in the next rotations, while Anakin connived his way to saving them, improvised plans and took risks, many of which might not pay off... he shuddered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And why is that?” The queen studied him intently, her pyrite eyes flicking over the subtle tremors in his chest, the quiet motion of his breathing and the sounds which accompanied it. When he spoke, he did so with complete intention, an authority in his resolve unparalleled by even the dealings Dooku had afforded her. A man of absolutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to purchase him.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. O Captain, My Captain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Obi-Wan pleads. Rex refuses. It isn't pride, but it is something.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Beg me, before this one dies because of you!” the Zygerrian mocked, brandishing the lash above the Togrutan elder. Talking had been the Jedi’s crime, and these people would be certain to train out his quick tongue if it took the deaths of all fifty-thousand Togrutans to accomplish it. One Jedi Master more than equalled the lives of these simple peace-lovers, even as uneducated in the finer points of servitude as he seemed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Obi-Wan dropped to his knees, affecting an ultimate distress which bordered on outright pathos. “Please,” he begged as ordered, putting one gloved hand against the duracrete and raising the other in supplication, finally averting his pained stare to the grit beneath. “Forgive me, Master.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Zygerrian cackled, a foul grin spreading across his face like the cracking of a stone in two. He leant down to rake a clawed finger through one of the five half-healed lacerations Anakin had made, splitting it open afresh as the Jedi dared neither to move nor look up, only bite his lip and stay silent. Despite several attempts at putting himself into a healing trance on the transport to the mines of Kadavo, the shock collar prevented his every chance of calling upon the Force for guidance and direction. The separation from the Force—and thus from Anakin—began to grow heavy on his heart, a weight; a lingering question of how the young Jedi could let his former master be so humiliated, to aid in it willingly even for the mission’s sake, even when Obi-Wan had asked him to. Anakin always boasted about getting his master out of trouble as a padawan learner—perhaps he had come to believe the younger man could genuinely rescue him from anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But not this time. Not when he needed him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Disappointment melted into betrayal, here, and as he said to Rex: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything about this place is designed to break the will.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Regretting the haughty words which escaped him about these </span>
  <em>
    <span>poor </span>
  </em>
  <span>Togrutans, as if Jedi were immune to the horrors of oppression the Zygerrians could supply. Even if his will were twice theirs, ten times, fifty—given long enough, he too would succumb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The slaver paused when a shuffling of feet behind him heralded the necessity of his presence elsewhere, drawing his fingers from the wound with a final cutting flick of his hand. Obi-Wan crouched back, sharing a glance with Rex before lifting himself and his shovel to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mere moments later, just when it seemed they would be left alone for the remainder of the work cycle, the guard stepped forward again, fixating on the captain. “You.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rex snapped to attention. “Sir.” He swallowed, addressing the Zygerrian as he would General Kenobi or any other military superior. Most of the guards smirked at his behavior, although unusual for a slave; it pleased them well enough if he kept a low profile about it. Rex wouldn’t grovel, and seeing his Jedi forced to only cemented his bred stubbornness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A vague awareness overtook him that the Zygerrian was closer now, smearing two fingers over his cheek and lips, Kenobi’s blood. He resisted the sickness biting at his gullet, following past the piles of rock and toiling slaves strewn serpentine throughout the facility, neither looking back at the general nor wondering what lay ahead. The time would come for him to end these slavers. He would have to be patient until then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another Zygerrian joined the pair at the mouth of a side corridor, away from the mining groups and the heat of the machinery. Down the hall lay the vast dormitories housing the slaves in shifts, large but not large enough to fully accommodate all at once; the shelves often held two or three at a time in a single space. Rex already slept at Obi-Wan’s feet, when he could, when the other man let him. Ready to snarl and attack in his defense, to take the shocks for his ready-made insolence, to guard and protect. It was not necessary, not really; even injured, Kenobi often proved a force to be reckoned with. But in here the captain despaired of another subject for his attention; so he kept to his Jedi like religion.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The new feline locked binders around his wrists, compelling him deeper into the hall before turning him to a secured door, pressing in a keycode, and pushing him inside. A humid darkness filled the room, mechanical lights flickering at one end. The flooring beneath creaked as the three men stepped forward, a grated durasteel by the feel of it. Rex whipped around when one of the guards made to shove his shoulder, confronting them though unable to see but the refracted electricity glimmering in their wild eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is this?” he demanded, steeling himself for some unsavory explanation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On your knees,” the guard who tortured Kenobi smiled. The other took advantage of his hesitation, driving his electrostaff into the port of the captain’s collar and activating it, a grating laugh penetrating him as he convulsed and buckled beneath the voltage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On your knees, </span>
  <em>
    <span>skug!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it you want?” Rex point-blanked, pushing himself up as an overhead panel flickered on, casting the trio in a low orange glow. Finally on his knees, he found himself at eye-level with the Zygerrian’s belt. Claws drove into his cheeks until his jaw slackened, breathing through parted lips as the guard sneered down at him. The captain wasted no time considering the possibilities before the feline slammed him back by his face, pinning him with arms behind his back, a knee on his chest, shin pressing into his abdomen and pelvis and the other on the floor beside him. Rex grit his teeth, the hand removed from his face to catch at his collar instead, and thrashed to no avail. He should have seen this earlier, tried to prevent it. But nothing could be done, anyway, not if it was what they wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other returned from a kitbox cabinet set into the wall, a device in a loose grip between his palms. Rex cursed upon recognizing it, recalling maintenance droids and starfighters and learning the ins-and-outs of mechanics during his training for the army. The smallest of welding torches, for his personal pleasure. The Zygerrian pinning him howled with laughter as the other switched it on, the scent of fuel and the singe of heat in his senses, the quiet airy noise it made when the slaver brought it close to his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is your mission here, with Kenobi?” one hissed, the flame licking at the soft skin beneath his jaw, the beginnings of a beard there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rex remained silent, glaring up at the Zygerrians with hard eyes. If they intended to torture him, then let them. No amount of physical pain could alter his allegiance to the Republic and to his general—each waking moment these days came with the threat of death, either for himself or his brothers in arms, each passing instant of life uncertain, a gift in his sleep to awaken the next morning. He had come to terms with it years ago, when his body had still been that of a boy’s, when the other trainees had not yet realized they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>alive, or what life meant as it raced them by at double-speed. Whether or not programming dictated these thoughts, as so many posed to him, the damning supposition that his free will could not be his own—the Kaminoans had created him to fight. A simple fact, unquestionable; his life’s purpose. No matter his own origins, Rex could not envy men like these before him; baseless, purposeless, pleasure-seeking and unfulfilled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet nightmares plagued him, about the war. But in these the Republic succeeded, the war won, and in peacetime the clones would be recalled to Kamino for decommissioning. The 501st would be the last to arrive on the watery planet, finding the facilities desolate and empty except for the Kaminoan scientists, ushering them into a final, white, sterile room where a chip in their brains would be activated. In dreams, Rex would lift his blaster to his chin with shaking hands, present inside his mind but unable to control his body. Fives and his trigger finger would be the first to fall, the rest following one after another, the buzz of blaster shots reverberating off the black-charred plastoid walls. The bodies of his men strewn around him, there on his knees amidst their unmoving forms, the captain would awake milliseconds before the blue-hot energy bolt penetrated his brain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing tangible in the galaxy could compare to that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Zygerrian ripped open his armor, exposing a patch of skin along the left side of his neck, down to his shoulder and baring part of his chest. Rex tensed, hardly hearing the repeated questions hurled down at him from above, sweat beginning to pool in the vague dips of his collarbones. Like muscle memory, the protocol for his situation surfaced in his mind, his lips beginning to trace the outlines of silent words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See-Tee seventy-five sixty-seven,” he breathed as the heat at his throat increased. “I am Captain Rex of the five-oh-first legion of the Republic Grand Army. I am twelve standard years old. See-Tee seventy-five sixty-seven. I am Captain Rex of the—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His toes curled. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Wounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Anakin and Ahsoka continue their search for the Togrutan colonists. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan tends to a wounded Rex.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ahsoka is Best Girl. I wanted to add a more humorous tone for her to contrast with what comes ahead, in both this chapter and the next.<br/>Also, I split this chapter into two because it was going to be rather long. So another update should be soon. The next part may be the most intense, idk.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anakin paced the foyer of the Zygerrian palace, nearly a full rotation after the disastrous slave auction that saw his teammates beaten, captured, and shipped away for re-education. R2-D2 had subsequently escaped with his and Ahsoka’s lightsabers, and had failed to return as of yet to the palace, leaving the pair defenseless if any combat situation were to arise. The Jedi weapons would only complicate the mission further if drawn, but Anakin bristled at the lack of a quick escape route for himself and his padawan. Nonetheless, he must trust Artoo and be confident the resourceful astromech would find his way back to his master in good time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now the location of the Togrutan population still evaded him, the Zygerrian queen as elusive as ever. Tonight he would dine with her alone, coax the information out with seamless flattery and charm, spend one final night in the luxury of her majesty’s guest chambers, and disappear before the rising sun. With as much discretion as he could summon, he would find a moment alone with Ahsoka to reveal his plans, to learn what she might have garnered while in the direct service of the queen. Master Obi-Wan and Rex would survive another night, wherever they happened to be—the Force assured him that much—but in what state remained to be seen. How long could Anakin let his friends languish, uncontacted, unsure of rescue or even the guarantee of life itself? For all of Anakin’s languor and stupidity and endless guilt, how many scars would Obi-Wan acquire at the mercy of unknown hands?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a padawan Anakin irked him without end, many times intentionally, recklessness concerning his own safety probably leaving enough mental traumas for a lifetime upon his long-suffering master. But to cross over into physical territory—Anakin stopped at a wall in the breezy, columned courtyard, balling his hand into a fist against the wall, setting his forehead against the cool sandstone, forcing the darkness pooling in his head out, striving for release. But the thoughts remained; the distasteful truth, that he would let fifty-thousand Togrutan slaves die before raising another hand against Obi-Wan. That he might as well slice through them himself, if it meant saving him somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young Jedi gulped in a shuddering breath, meditation curling at the edges of his mind, hushed reminders of how he should relinquish his emotions to the Force. There was still work to be done, and any hint of anxiety here would only serve to exacerbate his usual degree of tactlessness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master,” came a small voice behind him, soft and restrained, but urgent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ahsoka,” Anakin addressed her with a hint of surprise. He whirled around, checking for guards about the balconies washed in sunset tones, then leaning forward with a conspiratorial air that in any other situation might have come off as comedic. “What have you found out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not enough,” she sighed, rubbing at the gems cresting her forehead and cutting her eyes to the fading city skyline, bleeding light between the alabaster pillars of the palace front. “I think they might be at a mining colony, but I don’t know where. I overheard the queen giving orders to a man named... Agruss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Anakin returned, letting out a short frustrated grunt before remembering himself. “But it’s promising. Keep up the good work, Ahsoka.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His padawan nodded her thanks. “You’re wanted for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin matched her stride, following Ahsoka into a vast dining hall, an intricately carved table spanning its length, two portions of something steamy and spice-scented set at the far end. Queen Miraj stood from her place, halfway into her first glass of wine, swaying limbs and chalice in that broad revelrous gesture she seemed so fond of making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lars, how good of you to join me,” she drawled in melody, resuming her seat. “I was beginning to think you’d tired of my company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, your highness,” Anakin simpered, cheeky and flattering. “I could never tire of such an opulent presence as yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ahsoka rolled her eyes, taking up a pitcher of wine and serving her master a full glass. Before that moment, she would have doubted he knew the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>opulent,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and likelier still he could not enunciate what it meant. This evening would last an eternity, longer, if Anakin managed not to get drunk. But her taming hand would be certain everything ran smoothly enough; then her people—and Master Kenobi and Rex, as well—could be rescued and all would return to normal. At least, as normal as life could be after she had overheard what Anakin whispered to Queen Miraj in the throne room. That memory would rattle around in her skull even after death. It already haunted her lekku.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The former Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi picked through the scraps of an overturned basin at mealtime, the refuse of the taskmasters’ rations the only nourishment afforded them. For entertainment they had taken to playing bully once again, threatening violence on innocent Togrutans should the Jedi choose to defend himself, seeking to isolate him from the others, to break him. Except those who desired to perish, no sentient dared so much as to glance in his direction out of fear they would suffer for his carelessness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan lifted an unidentifiable root to his mouth, grinding the tough fiber between his teeth, sucking what little liquid he could from the bulbous roughage. Even these tormentors’ worst would not thieve away his determination. It would only strengthen his connection to the living Force, allowing him to influence minds from afar rather than through direct action, honing his skills, quietly deceiving them. Meditating with the collar proved difficult, but not impossible. Hope endured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A presence loomed above him, and before Obi-Wan could comprehend the depth of the shadow cast into the Force, a body radiating disturbance thudded to the duracrete. Several Togrutan slaves scattered, gasping, thinking the man dead. Instinct prompted the Jedi to catch Rex’s lolling head before it could impact the hard floor and concuss him, shielding him with lean hands as he lowered the injured man to the floor. Near reverently, Obi-Wan set him down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain blinked up at his general, delirious, murmuring his identification number in hoarse repetitions barely audible above the clanging of machines and workings of the miners echoing throughout the facility. Then his eyes dropped back, white, unseeing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan’s expression deepened into a vicious scowl, piercing eyes glowering from beneath his tawny brows. “What have you done to him?” he barked up at the Zygerrian, unwilling to restrain his burgeoning wrath. Consequences be damned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Temper your tongue, Kenobi, or you will find out.” The slavemaster kicked over the basin set before him once more, mocking sneer laughing at his prey, his powerlessness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Jedi tensed, opening his mouth for a retort when a weak movement against his thigh prevented him. “Sir,” Rex croaked, coming to, his eyelids heavy. “Leave it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan sighed, inclining his head as the slaver stalked off to lay his mark in some other target. He ran soothing fingertips down the captain’s cheek, pausing beneath his jaw as Rex hissed, wincing, turning his face away. Pushing against the urge to recoil, Obi-Wan half-pulled the man into his lap, a guarded hand peeling away the torn fabric of his tunic. The long lines of torch-burns rose in raw hues against his even, dark skin, blistering with fluid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is because of me, isn’t it, Rex,” the Jedi grimaced, examining the injuries, going pallid in the emberlight. It was not a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex screwed his eyes shut, turning his face into the tattered robes of the general, trembling. In comparison to seeing Obi-Wan like this, with his own wounds to speak of, some such agony convincing him of his responsibility for it all—physical pain itself would pale and wince away, made insignificant. Perhaps through the Force Obi-Wan could sense the captain’s adamance, his fervent belief that no one except the slavers were at fault for what they did to him. No; even with suppressants clouding his spiritual presence, even with exhaustion driving him out of the Force entirely, Obi-Wan could sense more than his blame. It ran deeper than the lash, hotter than a flame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guilt of a survivor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The remainder of the rotation slogged by like a bantha stuck in the mud pits of a Mimban swamp. Rex struggled to stand, much less lift a shovel to work, and frequent lashings by the guards for his indolence did nothing to improve his dazed state. By the time their sleep cycle began, the rived pair hardly noticed one another even as they walked in stride toward the few empty bunks. As soon as Rex lay back against the smooth, hard surface, consciousness drifted from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan envied him his luck but did not share it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Attempting not to disturb the captain, he leant close, removing the piece of shirt clinging to the weeping burns. Hand hovering over the worst of the many soon-to-be scars, he called upon the Force to ease the sting and quicken the healing process. It abandoned him. After minutes of concentration without result, he brought a few fingers to his mouth, swiping his tongue over the sweat-bitter skin, transferring saliva to the wounds and rubbing them clean. Rex groaned, shifting, but did not wake. Without bacta, licking the captain’s wounds for him would be as much help as the Jedi could give. He could still help this much without punishment. Force willing, there would be no punishment at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin would come before any of it mattered. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lesson</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Obi-Wan must come to accept that compliance is in his best interest. He always did so well with lessons.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The violence in this chapter is very mildly sexual in nature. Please be warned.</p><p>I have no intention of escalating violence or sexual content in further chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A presence at his side jolted him from uncertain sleep, sensed before seen. Obi-Wan stifled a waking groan as taloned nails bit into his shoulders and wrested him from the bunk, blinking haze from his sight as he attempted to regain his bearings. One got him to his feet just as another undid his balance, a fist in his side for good measure. The resting roomful of Togrutan slaves hardly stirred as a fist met his jaw in a hard thwack, the defeated Jedi slumping over into strong and waiting arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a miracle he had not protested thus far, dragged from the sleeping quarters without prelude or hint of where he would be taken and what would be done to him once he arrived. Groggy from the punch, once recovered, he found himself beneath the unforgiving lights of the outer corridor, surrounded by Zygerrian slavers bleeding intrigue in every vague expression of their catlike faces. Kneeling against a durasteel railing, a dozen pairs of expectant eyes bored holes in his tunic, searing straight through his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I help you?” he ventured, biting back a more impertinent phrase. Although the compound slept, any unsuspecting Togrutan could be abused and awoken just as he had been, and punished for the insolence in his stead. But even with the possibility close at hand, Obi-Wan’s senses whispered traitorous suggestions—that some of the Zygerrians tired of seeing him suffer by proxy. Wanted to test this Jedi themselves. See if he were made of duracrete or dewback leather, if he would be hard to crack, or if he would crack hard. His fist clenched at his side. Pride would not serve him here, but his dignity would be more difficult to strip away. It was an asset the rueful Master did not plan on losing any time soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scatter, all of you,” a higher-up ordered from somewhere behind the crowd, brandishing the hilt of his electrowhip along with another, smaller weapon tucked in his belt beside it. “Kenobi is mine tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t like the sound of</span>
  <em>
    <span> that,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Obi-Wan murmured as the taskmaster directed two others to haul him up. The majority of the Zygerrians did, to his relief, scatter. At least whatever the lead slaver had in store for him, it would not be a public event.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vaulted chamber bore a vague resemblance to the cloning facilities of Kamino—a gray storeroom containing luminous panels at all levels of the recessed walls, dimmer than those of the watery planet but no less grating against his tired nerves. A once-sleek plastoid floor stretched out beneath him, run over and roughened with scratches; a few flickering devices lingered in a corner, used for communication, perhaps, or scanning of some unknown variety. The back half of the room served as a makeshift medical bay; a single gurney hovered beside a few scattered supplies, bacta patches and tourniquets and salve, a few extra rations and packets of marked liquid atop them, flimsiplast labels worn to unreadable. An old-model medical droid stood motionless against the wall, mint green paint flaking and joints decayed into bleeding rust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The leader of the Zygerrians flicked his wrist over his shoulder as he fiddled idly with a console, ordering the two guards to steer their prisoner toward the center of the space, where they hurled him down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is he, Coruscanti?” one purred as their superior’s back was turned, palming the Jedi’s skull, raking fingers through his coppery hair and yanking his head back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at his coloring,” the other said, crouching down to Obi-Wan’s level. “Has to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A surge of annoyance bloomed in his chest as the Zygerrians examined him. Obviously, they had neither taste nor clue. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stewjoni.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The slavers both recoiled, one’s fist clenching to strike his face yet more, when their master turned and barked at them to leave their charge well alone. He waved the guards off, circling the kneeling man as they filed out, waiting to speak until the metal door slid and clicked into place in their wake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up,” he snorted. The prisoner rose. The Zygerrian gestured to the medical supplies, retrieving a packet of what must have been sanitizer—at least at one point—and smacking it into the Jedi’s chest. “Clean yourself up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Obi-Wan breathed, splitting the packet and pouring its contents over his shoulders. It stung, but not as much as a good wound-cleaning would have done. On his back, the gouges proved impossible to reach, much less sanitize; he settled for stripping his tattered shirt and smoothing the drying, sharp-scented liquid over the skin he could find. The gaze of the Zygerrian roved over his naked chest, mapping him, an ominous weight growing in the Force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t thank me yet, Jedi,” the reedy, dour voice bit out. “You’re not here for your own benefit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It struck him that this man could take anything he wanted, and it would not be within the Jedi to refuse. Seeing these people as his superiors was something Obi-Wan had not yet accepted—he clung to the Code to bring him peace and guidance, and thought of little else except eventual rescue, perhaps escape. By his philosophy, even while accepting the woes of involuntary servitude, some particular cruelties still necessitated resistance: Resistance against hatred, against defilement, against the Dark side of the Force. To forsake these principles, to let himself hate, lower himself, fall into the Dark—it would be to break the Code, and Obi-Wan could never do such a thing willingly. He could not turn his back on the teachings. Not yet. Not ever. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Jedi way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But how long could he hold out? Realistically?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How many lives would resistance cost him? And would it be futile, in the end? Would he break no matter what, resign himself, give in?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin would come before any of that. He would. He must.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Zygerrian tossed a wet rag at him, and Obi-Wan sponged off the ash and dead embers of the mines from his reddened skin. When he finished, the man circled him once more, kicking up his ruined robes from the floor and casting them away, claws catching in the wave of his hair just as his subordinate’s had. The Zygerrian then stripped off his own armor, to his undershirt, finally removing it and thrusting the too-large garment at his prisoner to put on. It reeked of sweat and musk, but better that than burnt flesh and blood. The slaver replaced his overclothes slowly, still eyeing how Obi-Wan looked draped in his tunic. Small, like a wet rat. Like prey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will...” Obi-Wan hazarded, earning him a sharp glare from the Zygerrian. “My friend. He was injured. Will he be treated as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Jedi,” his captor replied, smiling. “To your knees and I will tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan moved tentatively to the floor, an unease drifting through the undercurrents of the Force, the tendrils he could still sense of it curling about his chest like dark flame. With a ringing hiss, the slaver unsheathed a short knife from his belt, taking Obi-Wan’s chin in his opposite hand, thumbing over his beard and lips. His pulse jumped in his neck, throbbing and hot. Senseless embarrassment flushed his cheeks, a fitting hue for a position so utterly ridiculous, inane. There at the joint of his teeth, the Zygerrian set the tip of the knife, prying for entrance and commanding it in a low tone which, under any other circumstance, might be considered intimate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no other choice but to submit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan gave in. The cool blade slipped over his tongue, horrible and slow, until it came to hilt choking against his too-still throat, the fine point pressed just short of penetrating him. Breathing through his teeth, eyes flicking up, fixating on the silvery irises that met them. A long moment where everything was too much; the texture of the fabric against his skin, the sting of the sanitizer and the itch of the healing wounds below, the warming metal and the taste of salt and bitter steel and blood. Then the Jedi found his hand clinging to the wrist of his captor, pleading silently as of its own accord. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature bent down, finally, whispered words tickling the short tawny hair there at his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen carefully, Kenobi. This is your lesson. My associates may enjoy tormenting others on your behalf, but I will ensure your behavior befits a slave of Zygerria. Speak again without being spoken to, and my knife fucking your throat will be a mercy compared to what I will do to you after.” The slaver drew out the blade then, releasing Obi-Wan’s chin with a jolt. “Tell your master you understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand,” he said, the hoarse sound barely registering as speech, as more than a murmur, as coming from him and not somewhere far beyond. “Master.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could non-Force-sensitives possibly cope? Severed, the cool relief of the living presence ripped away from him, Obi-Wan’s very soul filled with roiling crimson venom. The metallic taste lingered in his mouth. A sudden thought crossed his wounded spirit—a dark promise that this slaver, this man specifically, would burn with the same humiliation he endured at his hands. But he could not entertain such thoughts. Reeling with quiet shock, some indistinct part of his body began to shiver; his spine, his limbs, his ribs. Obi-Wan Kenobi was not strong enough—he would break with much more. Fear seeped in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he unclenched his fists, releasing the tense lines of his hunched back, surrendering emotion to the Force as well as he could and vowing never again to dwell upon revenge. He was not strong enough alone. But he was not alone. He had the Force, even if he could not sense it for the collar—and it would have to be enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Zygerrian drew him from his contemplation with a swipe of his hand, lifting his prisoner’s face and stroking over it possessively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you do not wish for your friend to suffer further injuries, you will not misbehave again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan’s fingers curled reflexively before he could halt them, giving a curt nod in response, averting his eyes. The Zygerrian then called to a guard, who came rushing. “Get him out of my sight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others noticed his new garment, and sneered at him for special treatment; any other would have been left skin exposed to burn against flecks of molten metal and wisps of ash, tainted gases spewing from the mines. Rex kept his head down, and did not ask, even after rescue. Sating his curiosity was not worth refreshing the wound, if there were one in Obi-Wan to be refreshed—and he was certain enough not to take the risk. The perceptive captain knew enough to infer the clothing covered something horrific, something such as he had endured; something best left unmentioned, unremembered, unsaid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it did.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Obstinance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After rescue, Anakin battles with a still-damaged Obi-Wan. There is comfort to be found, sometimes, even in unexpected places.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some Obikin (if you squint, of course) fluff after the horror that was last chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Rex is refusing treatment,” Anakin’s accusing mouth snapped, devoid of its usual playful softness, good-natured arrogance in the easy curve of his lips. Emotion taking hold, making his smooth lines hard, blood-red in the Force. “He says if you don’t need it, he doesn’t either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Obi-Wan turned, ensconced in the torchlight of their latest encampment, yet another stop before Coruscant. A small medical facility resided on the Outer Rim moon, but neither of the injured had utilized its resources. Rex should have been in and out of the medbay already. No point in letting the burns sit to mar his skin—he knew that, Rex—and so he should have been readying himself for the company’s return. He frowned, thinking. General Kenobi had his reasons for refusing attention from the medics at the base there. The captain did not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet Anakin stalked him down, circling like a rock-vulture determining the weakest point of its prey, where to strike first. “Ahsoka is distraught.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see why. The captain’s injuries are far more substantial than my own. There can be no room for a waste of resources, but obstinance is another matter.” Obi-Wan shifted, stepping askance to where his uniform lay folded atop a durasteel console in a corner of the makeshift quarters. Anakin had barged in before he could think better of himself, riled after Ahsoka’s teary confession, and so caught his master in only his leggings and the thinnest undergarment he wore beneath his robes, a shirt instead of a bandage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obstinance!” Anakin reeled, paying no mind to the general’s state of undress. “Master, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If anyone’s being obstinate it’s you. Rex is just—following your lead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is your captain,” Obi-Wan warned, brow knitting dangerously low in his forehead. “If anything, your influence has brought this on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin threw his hands up, growling out a frustrated groan. “I pulled you and Rex out of that hellhole. Now you can</span>
  <em>
    <span> thank me</span>
  </em>
  <span> by doing your duty and getting the medical attention that you need.” A different tack might yield better results, but Obi-Wan hardly responded to his attempts at persuasion in the best of conversations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anakin,” the general insisted. The younger Jedi moved between him and the rest of his uniform just as he reached for the tabard. He sighed, storm-blue eyes deadened by exhaustion. “Anakin—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Anakin stepped close to the man who was once his master, gripping his shoulders, taking down his defenses piece by piece through the Force. The collarless shirt exposed a gouge running up his shoulder, half-healed and tender. Anakin’s doing. His fault. Obi-Wan glanced up at him, regret and pain not his own striking through his energy, the Force overwhelming after days of its absence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin swallowed, tightening his hold. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?” the Jedi Master said softly, refusing to allow himself to flinch at the touch and the closeness and the unnerving intensity of his former padawan, his mismatched hands and familiar unplaceable scent, the way his searching eyes broke the boundaries of the Force, made their way in, and memorized him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps not,” he decided, stricken with a faint twinge in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From then until now I have felt...” He did not say </span>
  <em>
    <span>abandoned,</span>
  </em>
  <span> for that would imply Anakin had abandoned him when he never did, not for a moment. But these emotions clung to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan found it difficult to open up to his friend at the most amicable of times, but unusually so now their bond had been strained. Yet he remained guarded for both their sakes. There were things Anakin should not see, below the surface; parts of himself he could not expose; parts which if revealed would inevitably cause the young Jedi to lose faith in his once-master, now-friend. And that he could not abide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in this matter, the young one already saw through him. Anakin needed more than he could provide—he deserved more. Deserved better than the stubborn, implacable man Obi-Wan had become since the war, age and Jedi platitudes writing worried lines around the corners of his slim lips. No final word came to rescue the negotiator, the whole of his experience too complex to articulate. He let down his shields. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master,” Anakin said, something fragile in his voice. He pulled the older Jedi into a desperate embrace, some uncautious abandon in knotting his fingers into the fabric at his back, just missing the wounds still stinging there. “I never apologized to you because what I did—what I did is unforgivable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan startled at the sudden hold, but soon enough brought his hands down to rest on the war-worn material of Anakin’s robes, running slightly back and forth, trying to console him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is nothing to forgive, Anakin. You did what you had to, to save the Togrutans, and save them you did. You behaved well and I am proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as the compliment melted away the hardness he held inside him, the young knight drew back, eyes brimming with bright pain. “There must have been another way. It should have been me in the mines and not you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan smiled at the apparent self-sacrifice of his former apprentice, something genuine and warm for the first time since Zygerria. “I would much rather have been on Kadavo than with Queen Miraj, if it meant having to say to any living being what Ahsoka overheard from your conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin flushed, opening his mouth to speak but not making a sound, letting a few moments of jovial shock flee by as his lips curled into a smirk. “I’m taking you to the healers myself, Obi-Wan. We need to get your head checked, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Jedi chuckled softly, shaking his head, but sobered upon realizing Anakin meant at least the first half of his statement, and now—moving to pull him along as he tossed the tabard into his arms, beckoning for his master to finish dressing and hurry. Before the scars solidified into his flesh and the reminder of Anakin’s shameful unpreparedness made its home upon him forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, it was far too late to bother with any of that now. Intentional or not, Obi-Wan’s mere presence in a room reminded Anakin of his failures. The young one overcompensated, acting cocky and sly and taking far too many risks, but the fear of disappointing his master still pervaded him even now, even when he had proved himself times innumerable. He should be proud of his myriad accomplishments; acknowledged and unacknowledged, on and off the battlefield, in both personal affairs and those of the Jedi. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He was never enough for Obi-Wan, or the Council, or the galaxy, or anyone. He was never enough for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>These were Anakin’s scars, and Obi-Wan had laid them into him with his lash-sharp tongue. Too many chastisements, not enough praise. Too many lectures. He never </span>
  <em>
    <span>listened.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Truthfully, neither of them listened to one another and it drove them both insane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he deserved this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Anakin asked, his brow furrowing and hand darting out. The look in his master’s eyes had shifted, a hundred parsecs from his body, standing on some precipice over the great maw of the Dark, staring in. It could not be waded into—not for a Jedi, at any rate. To court the Dark side would be to plunge into emotion headlong, embracing the abandon Obi-Wan Kenobi fought tirelessly to dispel. But at the edge, the air stayed incredibly still, calm, unfeeling. He wanted all of these things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to let it go,” Obi-Wan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to conceal misty eyes. “Release this to the Force. But I can’t.” He eased his guard down, letting the images wash over his mind, the hatred and the dread trickling through but not consuming him. Anakin stepped back, alarmed at the rush of emotion his master had never before allowed him to perceive, that Anakin never knew he had harbored in secret, in silence. Then he gripped Obi-Wan tighter in his embrace, sudden, again, impassioned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anakin, do you ever think I...” the flustered Jedi began, not quite certain how to breach the subject verbally now it had been done through the pair’s bond. “No, that’s stupid,” he muttered, scoffing at himself. Defeat at every turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to hear it, Master.” The knight’s voice was like he had never heard it, not in a long while. Almost fervent in its lilt, and kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have I done right by you, Anakin, all these years? Have I been a good master? A good friend?” The questions streamed from him like water at a floodgate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you... </span>
  </em>
  <span>proud of me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing in the known universe could be more important than the answer. That Anakin was proud. It was not the Jedi way to care about such things, but—perhaps the Jedi Code did not always account for individual needs. Cautiously, he allowed himself to feel it, to hold this reservation inside him, and not let it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin smiled, though his former master was nearly in tears from the exertion. He spoke deliberately, flickering blue eyes against the steely gray ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have never met a better or wiser man than you, Obi-Wan. You are what every Jedi Master wishes to be. The kind of person younglings dream of becoming.” The older Jedi shook his head, Anakin’s usual sense of wry flattery nowhere to be found. The boy managed, Force, somehow, to be entirely sincere. That itself would be a small miracle, even were the content of his speech not already so incredulous. But he believed every word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> go and talk to Rex. I can’t stand to see either of you like this.” The brightness and the wonder in his eyes grew shadowed, serious, and he was again a battle-hardened general, no longer a young padawan learner with hope and starlight reflected in his soul. Anakin wrapped another robe about his master’s shoulders, tentatively helping him dress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Obi-Wan sighed, a forgiving smile tugging at the edges of his lips as he adjusted the uniform about his shoulders, the flaxen length of his beard twitching appreciatively. “But only because I would do anything in the galaxy for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll remember that, Master,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan knew he would.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Something More</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Obi-Wan senses that Rex isn't telling him the whole truth. He's right, of course. But what will the truth cost him?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the longest chapter so far, but after Kadavo, Rex and Obi-Wan have so much to say to one another I just couldn't condense it.<br/>Warning for suicidal ideation and detailed injury description. There is no physical violence or self-harm in this chapter.<br/>RexObi if you squint, because I can't decide on who to ship and so Obi-Wan gets shipped with everyone.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The admonishment came so gently the stalwart captain almost forgot he should be up and standing at attention. Obi-Wan swept into the barracks, the few middling crew of the 501st knowing to leave well alone, Force though they could not sense driving them from the locked pair all the same. About them the lights hummed, broken electric torches casting the central partition into a stuttering half-illumination, an odd luminance and too cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rex,” Obi-Wan repeated, and the man started up, back straightening into the familiar posture. “At ease, Rex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shoulders slumped considerably, exhaustion flooding over him. “What is it, sir?” He meant the words to affect anything other than apathy, but could not prompt them to fall eagerly from his mouth. The captain sighed. The reason for General Kenobi’s appearance here could not be mistaken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“General Skywalker has informed me of your refusal to seek medical treatment,” he said shortly, the look on Rex’s face causing his brow to knit. “I urge you to reconsider. No one here wants to lose you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir. With all due respect, sir,” the captain began, leaning tentatively against a bunk, “I neither wish for, nor require, formal medical treatment at this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rex,” Obi-Wan began again, more plaintively this time, determined to get at least somewhere with the man whose stubbornness threatened to rival his own. “I feel... responsible, for what happened to you on Kadavo. If I were not a target, as a Jedi, neither would you have been.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The admission did not seem to affect the young officer either way. He cocked his head back, a hard expression crossing his battle-lined face, staring into open space as if examining the air, the tension held within its empty folds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Permission to speak freely, sir,” he requested finally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan’s lips pursed into a curt line. “Granted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex snorted as if he had been holding it in, gesticulating in front of him, to nothing and no one in particular. “You can’t possibly be </span>
  <em>
    <span>responsible,</span>
  </em>
  <span> sir—I jumped down from that balcony, if I recall, when I just as easily could have stood there and watched you in the arena. If I hadn’t intervened, who knows how much more General Skywalker would have—would have—” he cut short his tirade as if grasping for the words, finding them, but not wanting to spit them out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Jedi raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms below his chest, the growing uncomfortable silence between them beckoning for his continuance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lashed you, sir,” Rex said, wincing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan shook his head in a hard sort of disbelief. This was unlike the captain. Unlike a clone. Anger directed toward Anakin was something he knew well, had mastered a hundred times over. If he could forgive the boy his few blunders—often far outweighed by the merits of his successes, he might add—why couldn’t Skywalker’s own captain? The behavior made sense only in that it required swift correction. A tinge of disappointment tightened his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he did speak, his voice sounded sharp, his tongue a knife he gave little regard to dulling. “You would spite your General over that? Spite your battalion? The point of it being what, exactly, Captain? To pin blame?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, that was a mistake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan silently chastised himself. He must be on edge—not himself—the torture of Kadavo hardening him as a Jedi must never allow himself to be hardened. He would get his wounds mended as soon as Rex agreed to accompany him; the pain he could endure, but it sharpened him in ways he did not like. He feared, as he knew he should not fear, and it would lead him astray if he let it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain had given him a look as if stricken, sinking against the lower bunk, head in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, sir,” he said at once, grieved. “I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Rex, I spoke too harshly just now. Forgive me.” But now the damage had been done. Obi-Wan rushed to him, sitting as close as he dared, a hand on his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain bit hard into his lip to keep it from trembling. The childish justification broke to pieces, as he knew it would, as soon as the famed negotiator touched it. The real reason for his hesitance spilled out with the tears he could not blink back, though he made a valiant attempt at doing exactly both those things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I shouldn’t be—I shouldn’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>ashamed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I am.” Rex took one more shuddering breath, unable to process how he still bore the composure to speak at all. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone—anyone looking at me now. Like this. It’s, it’s all just, just too much. The brothers, General Skywalker, Commander Ahsoka, even—she’s tried to help me and I’ve only pushed her away. I feel like I’m—losing myself. Sir.” The officer dropped his face back into his hands, sharp elbows clinking against his plastoid-covered knees, in his blacks alone from the waist up. He rubbed the drying tears from his cheeks, a hollow ringing in his ears. If his erstwhile captors had carved him out with a vibroblade he could not have been more gutted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan inclined his head, stare pensive, grim. “Rex,” he began half-heartedly, hoping his next question would not prove too intrusive after his previous blunder. Best to probe the wound while it was still open, though—something more was going on here, that much he could see. But what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did they do to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex swallowed a lump in his throat, but it returned as if to spite him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only what you can see, I think, sir,” he replied, a sad smile ghosting over his expression as he raised himself with effort, trying to regain some semblance of control. Overly thorough, that Kenobi. If they had spilled out liters of his blood, or scrambled his brains through a nostril, or taken anything at all, tangible or intangible, which he could not get back—what would it matter? What could be done? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it made the general breathe easier, reassuring him, and so the captain endured it for his Jedi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” Obi-Wan pressed, the Force weaving its way through his words. “See it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex heaved a sigh. Both Anakin and his master had a way of parsing out the bits of what they needed to hear and casting the rest aside. It worked on diplomatic missions, where deluges of information must be sorted through and mentally catalogued; but where niceties were shed and negotiations nonexistent—it often seemed the Jedi listened </span>
  <em>
    <span>over</span>
  </em>
  <span> more than listened </span>
  <em>
    <span>to.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And it had a rough way of rendering him powerless, as powerless as if he were trapped inside a ghost ship, communications severed, raging thickly against transparisteel and wires and failing life support, futile in every effort to combat the vast and empty abyss of outer space. His energies drained upon the Force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But those pretty eyes pleaded with him, and a calm washed through his boiling helplessness, and Rex edged up the hem of his shirt and then cast it over his shoulders. “Don’t give me that look, General,” he asked, more than ordered, as the Jedi leaned close to examine him. Obi-Wan sounded a low mirthless laugh, eyelashes fluttering up for a moment before he knit his brow once more and continued the unbeckoned stare, searching fingers almost flush against the naked chest before him. The captain stilled, having to remind himself to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wounds themselves wept, melted skin mottled in an array of lurid color. The repeating, striated pattern indicated their purpose unmistakably; it carried little breaks and dips where the blistering torch had not quite scarred, or done the opposite and edged into the third degree. Obi-Wan could surmise the torturers inexperienced, the variations too often to be anything but the work of the unskilled. While first-degree burns hardly seared the skin, third melted the nerve endings in humans and so caused no pain after the initial shock—hardly an effective method. Second degree burns, he knew, afforded the most pain, the least sterility, and could be drawn upon again and again with as little as a touch setting the area to agony once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even inexperienced, a good measure of the raw wounds were inflicted at the intended level. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Infection,” Obi-Wan noted grimly, “could be taking hold.” Or the white, filmy tissue at the edges of the wounds could be an aid to healing; but he doubted it. This unforgiving galaxy would take the young captain from him if it could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not if Obi-Wan Kenobi had any say in the matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that about medical treatment being unnecessary?” he chided gently, Rex giving a small sheepish glance and not looking any more comfortable than a shorn bantha might. “Shall I call Kix?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Rex snapped, fear playing in the tones of his voice more than anger. “Sir. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What aren’t you telling me?” Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at the unfortunate trooper. There was something. The Force betrayed it, a nervous energy which at any moment might shatter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain lowered his head, unable to conceal himself from the Jedi Master any longer. This would finish him, but at least Obi-Wan might understand; let him go out in compassionate silence, some final mission. Anakin would be furious if he found out, and to burden Obi-Wan with secrets Rex could hardly himself bear would be torture for the both of them. Better than the alternative, he supposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words left him in little more than a breath, a whisper. “They... did things to me.” The battle of his recollections raged on, though the outside grew placid; serene in a still, sickening way. “They got into my head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the Force, Obi-Wan silently encouraged Rex to lower his shields; but he held them far too tightly, a soldier to the core. “In your head?” he prompted, aware but not quite registering how he was splitting the good captain apart. That cognizance would come later, when he could handle it and release it and not just push it down inside. For now, he needed to know what Rex meant by it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was repeating my mantra, like they taught us on Kamino,” Rex continued, as if begging the fragmented story to make a modicum of sense. “Then some kind of... switch... flipped in my head. I said things... I thought things...” He broke off, face a mask of distress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort of things?” Their bodies were close enough Obi-Wan could feel the nervous heat roiling off Rex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath caught in his teeth. “Nightmares,” he grimaced, meeting the Jedi’s eyes. “They said... made me promise... when the time was right, I would kill for them. Anyone. You. Otherwise they’d kill me then, and have you take the blame. I said I would. I betrayed you, sir. I betrayed all of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan shook his head as if it could not possibly be true, as if hearing a piece of faulty intelligence for the hundredth time. As if he had been there, seen it, when he hadn’t. “It wasn’t you, Rex. Whatever they did—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just it, sir. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe that.” And why, even if so, would it have anything to do with refusing treatment for his physical injuries?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Believe it,” Rex growled out painfully, eyes filling once more. His lip trembled, and he grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. Suddenly the shivers spread, and he regarded his Jedi and the robes that seemed so warm, clean, simple—and longed for the comfort he knew would come with an embrace, one for which he could not ask. “I don’t trust myself anymore. I can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew a shuddering breath to stabilize himself. “I’ll be reconditioned for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan’s stomach leapt into his throat, the awful word gripping him. “You will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be. Neither Anakin nor I will allow it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex opened his mouth to respond, but found he could not. The Jedi lifted a hand to brush his shoulder, the simple gesture a comfort against his burning skin. The pair sat in silence for some time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What they did to Dogma...” Rex breathed finally. “I’d die before that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan averted his eyes. He had tried to vouch for the trooper during the court martial, but in the end it had proven a fruitless endeavor. His crimes were too many, though not his own; his programming too successful, loyalty to authority over all else caused his downfall. He could not see the corruption of his leaders, and thus betrayed his men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Jedi wondered if the Republic were not the same. If this war was worth the consequences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The quiet realization of what Rex had just said struck him worse than another lay of the electrowhip. “Wait. You want to—to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>for this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex startled slightly, but heaved another sigh as he settled back. “I’m—defective, sir. If they reprogrammed me somehow... with the pain, I didn’t know. They could have done anything.” He rubbed over his face with his thumbs, the conclusion a disturbing given. “The way I see it, I had two options. Turn myself in, which I could not bear to do. Or...” he quieted. The Jedi knew his logic, and horrible as it was, it made sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured I’d go out with some heroics, maybe. Save General Skywalker’s skin and the boys one more time. If I didn’t get them all killed somehow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And so, no reason to seek treatment, if you’re going to... die anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan stood immediately, and for a moment appeared to be leaving. His gaze swept the small barracks, the neatly stacked armor and few personal belongings against the bunks. Rex motioned to get to his feet beside him, reaching for his shirt, but the general waved him back down again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kix’s bag, is it in here?” he asked, the morale drained from his voice. “Rex. The bag?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan found it himself, a white kit containing gauze and sterile packs and bacta, a few mild painkillers and emergency sutures. Rex regarded him as he wet his hands with the sanitizer, the pulse of his jaw at the sharp scent and the coolness as it dried on his skin. The general should not subject himself to this off the field of battle, when someone else could tend to him, when Kix or the medical personnel at the center should instead. Certainly he had better things to do than clean a captain’s wounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was Rex’s own fault for being so stubborn, he supposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m probably not allowed to do this,” Obi-Wan mused, pulling out a hypo. “So let’s keep it between us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex nodded stiffly as the general deployed the spray into his upper arm, the anaesthetic within numbing and relaxing, a cool non-sensation, making him realize just how much discomfort he had been trying to ignore. The general’s penchant for double entendre usually made him more nervous than not, but in this instance, it was a reassurance. He wouldn’t tell. Rex would return to normal, preferably without the help of the Kaminoans, and his Jedi Master would be there to see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear he might snap lingered, the apprehension that an enemy could give the order and he would be killing them—killing all the Jedi indiscriminately, and everyone standing in his way; the idea familiar though it shouldn’t be. Rex lost himself in it as Obi-Wan cleaned the wounds, and gingerly applied bacta, and sealed them in with patches and gauze and medical tape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he finished, the captain caught his gaze, a staying hand brushing the Jedi’s arm in a little fond disobedience to his programming, just to know he could still choose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan turned back as if he would ask Rex what the matter was, but he fell silent upon meeting his eyes, and gave a tired smile. He lifted a hand, thumbing the captain’s sunken cheek, a little playful and a little sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be okay,” he said softly, blue-gray eyes intent, as if he would make it so by the very words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex covered the hand with his own, taking it. “I hope so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will be, Rex.” Obi-Wan drew him close, almost unthinkingly, like on Kadavo, when all they had was one another. “It will be.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm going back to school this week, so I may not update again for a few weeks, we'll see. The next bit should be the finale, if I don't let my ideas run away with me (again).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Rex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I wish I could say it’s another chapter. For now, here’s some Rex art I’ve been putting on hold in case I couldn’t get to writing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope the file size is correct—I attempted to make it small enough to view on mobile while still retaining the quality.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Unforgivable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Everyone is afraid of something.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope this conclusion is satisfying, if short. I put off writing it for so long... but here it is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’ll be up and about in no time, sir,” Rex said, but couldn’t bring himself to smile even comfortingly. He should have been more attentive, seen it coming, assumed less. How massive a tactical error, to think Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi wouldn’t try and get away with bacta patches and meditation sessions in the place of proper treatment. The captain laid a hand on his pale arm, taking in the jasmine scent of his quarters, wanting to blink in the streaming midafternoon light. Here was where he should be to recover from Kadavo, not out in the field, not in a dirty barracks or grimy transport. The whole Temple smelled like incense, on good days; it suggested meditation and calm.</p><p>It had been a good day. The light streamed in through the windows, the Coruscant sun golden and fresh, the weather breezy and sweet. The gardens shimmered with a soft sunshower just passed. The business of the Jedi continued on, war against a backdrop of peace and tranquility.</p><p>Obi-Wan had been planning a mission with Aayla and Cody, when he collapsed.</p><p>“If it were up to me, Rex,” the Jedi said with a wry look, “I’d be ‘up and about’ <em>now.” </em></p><p>He’d awoken on the floor of some holoprojection chamber, wondering if he should be embarrassed for having slipped and fallen. But Cody hardly ever missed a chance to make fun, and his expression had been that of such intense distress Obi-Wan knew instantly it could not have been a simple misstep. Not remembering how he’d gotten on his side in a heap was a first, and much clearer sign, now he thought about it. The way his vision swam had been a second.</p><p>Mace Windu had come to him in the Halls of Healing—first to berate him, and then to give him medical leave. After a few hours in a bacta tank, Obi-Wan had stopped caring what was said. The relief of being back in his quarters after the involuntary treatment washed away any lingering apprehension of judgment by the Council or punishment for his carelessness. He only wanted to write “no bacta tanks, please” on every datapad of medical history ever assigned to him. </p><p>“You never told me,” Rex began, tentatively, “why you avoid this stuff.”</p><p>Obi-Wan gave him a weak smile. “That’s because the reason is irrational.”</p><p>“Everyone is afraid of something. Sir.” The captain stirred, shivering in the cool air of an open window, but did not elaborate.</p><p>“What are you afraid of, Rex?” Obi-Wan granted him a searching stare, intent but kind. There was something. There was always something with this one. Perhaps that’s why he’d let him come in, when he’d turned away every other visitor for the day. The intrigue of it all. </p><p>Rex thrummed his fingers gently over the clammy skin at his Jedi’s elbow, and then went to stroke it with the barest of touches. The general glanced down, back up, his brow raised. “Rex?”</p><p>The pair met eyes.</p><p>“A lot of things. Sir. After Kadavo, I—”</p><p>“I know.” Obi-Wan set his hand atop the captain’s to still its nervous motion. He couldn’t let him say such things, but the Force whispered that which he already knew. The only other person living on Coruscant, perhaps living in the galaxy, who understood—neither did Obi-Wan desire to let go of his particular connection. But Rex, being human, no Jedi training to serve as recourse, required contact and feared loss all the more intensely than his counterpart. That justification was far more logical than those the general had invented in recent times about his own behavior, allowing himself to fall into such a state of disrepair. His own hypocrisy, worthy of scorn.</p><p>“You’re all right now, sir,” Rex said, as if willing himself to believe it. “General Skywalker said... well. Suffice it to say he won’t be letting anything else happen to you.”</p><p>Oh, Anakin. Obi-Wan used to be the overprotective master, the cautious negotiator, the Jedi Knight bound by mandate. Did Anakin truly believe his old master so worn down by injury upon injury, as to be in need of constant protection? Did he think, then, that he could shoulder the burdens of the whole Order himself? The whole Clone War? The whole galaxy? Even as the Chosen One... the responsibility would break him. He couldn’t control everything. Nor should he try. </p><p>Obi-Wan almost scoffed at himself again, and not without a touch of irony this time. Even when Anakin wasn’t there he couldn’t help lecturing him. </p><p>“This has been a lesson to me,” the Jedi pronounced, letting his hand fall from the captain’s. “I was foolish. I let my emotions get the better of me, and I paid the price. Because of my failure, General Secura’s battle plans will have to be revised, which will take time. Time costs us lives.” He could only look past Rex, at the painted durasteel door, at the tapestried wall; or down, at the thin beige sheets he clutched, pooled languidly around his diminished figure. “No. My failure cost me little. Nothing. The Republic pays the price for my selfishness. Your brothers.”</p><p>“There is no blame in what happened,” Rex replied, wondering why, yet also knowing exactly how that simple fact was so difficult to accept. Of course Obi-Wan blamed himself; he was a creature of the belief that each movement of the galaxy had a reason, a cause—and a source. And if not the will of the Force, then something sentient running against it. As an agent of the living Force, Obi-Wan considered it his duty to counteract such actors as who would defy the side of the light. But sometimes he failed. And when he did fail—he failed with the absolute knowledge that he could have succeeded. </p><p>He knew this because Anakin had told him. </p><p>The Jedi made a face of distinct cynicism. Rex countered it with the most determination he could muster up, bleeding his verity. “At Kadavo—the slavers... they got what was coming to them. It’s over. The best we can do is move on.”</p><p>“As a Jedi I try to learn from my mistakes.” Obi-Wan looked as if the emotion had been cut out of him with a knife. Pain without backing or depth. Just regret. “I once believed the Jedi Order a confinement. But how free our existence seems when faced with—that.”</p><p>Rex knew the bittersweet feeling. After Umbara, after Zygerria, even the virtual slavery of the GAR could not well compare. Anakin had said once that this war should never have happened. It was destroying the Jedi, unmaking them, Obi-Wan more than any of the others. The captain shook his head, a sudden sinking weight eating at his stomach, the nightmare at the base of his skull making a sharp, jarring return. Anakin didn’t understand. Without the war, the clones were nothing. But with it— </p><p>“The brothers don’t see it, but sometimes I wonder—if when our time is up we’ll all be slaves. If we’re not all pawns in some big, cruel game. If we maybe have always been.”</p><p>Obi-Wan reached him through the Force, a soothing brush against his skin. He expected the Jedi to give him a platitude, to reassure, to smile—but what he said instead chilled Rex to his center.</p><p>“Anakin doesn’t see it either. But sometimes I know we are.”</p><p>Rex opened his mouth to respond but found words had failed him.</p><p> Just then, his comlink chimed, and General Skywalker’s voice crackled through the transmitter. <em> “Rex—we’ve got trouble with Grievous again. Something about transport ships on the border. The five-oh-first needs briefing in ten.” </em></p><p>“Copy that, sir, briefing in ten,” Rex responded, standing, glancing helplessly over the Jedi before him. The only one who seemed to understand. This war, this republic, this life he lived—suddenly it closed around him like the iron grip of a Force-choke, all the power of the galaxy concentrated in making him seem small, insignificant, alone. </p><p>Obi-Wan nodded at him to go, wordlessly. But he knew. He sensed it through the Force, as clear as kyber. </p><p>Anakin was right. What this Clone War had done to him—what it had done to all of them—</p><p>It was unforgivable.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for reading, commenting, giving kudos, etc. It never fails to make my day.<br/>A special thanks to sheApunk89 for the lovely comments every chapter. I'll miss 'em.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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